


Canary Fancies

by cait_stewart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Backfiring Experiments, Belly Kink, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Eggs, First Time, Inflation, M/M, Pumpkin Juice Inflation, Sibling Incest, Size Kink, Twincest, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cait_stewart/pseuds/cait_stewart
Summary: Unexpected side effects.





	Canary Fancies

“Do you want to try the next one?”

“Yeah,” said Fred, and he yawned. “Let's try and be quick, we have to be up in – blimey, four hours.” 

“Not my fault I almost bled out from the nougats and threw us off schedule,” said George, who still looked a bit pale. “Here, have one of these yellow ones.” 

“What is it that they do again?” 

“No idea,” said George, “seeing as my notebook is covered in bloodstains.” 

“Well, let's find out,” said Fred, jovially, and he popped the piece of candy into his mouth. “Mmh, the taste could definitely be improv– _oh_.” 

§ 

“Are you sure you're all right?” 

Fred spat a mouthful of toothpaste foam into their dormitory's bathroom's sink. 

“For the last time, _yes_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes at his brother's tone of concern. “You're acting like turning into a giant canary was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Does Mum have you under the Imperius curse?” 

“Sod off, then,” said George, grinning, and he punched him on the upper arm. “Are you quite done? I think I'm actually about to fall asleep standing up.” 

“Erm, no, you go ahead,” said Fred, who felt a vague discomfort in his lower stomach that he hoped to cure with a few minutes on the toilet. “Oh, don't look at me like that, you twit. I'm not secretly dying, I just need the loo.” 

“Oh. Right,” said George, clearly relieved. “Well, don't let me keep you. Goodnight.” 

§ 

Fred woke up the next morning - a Thursday - with a belly that not only still felt pretty uncomfortably full (which made sense, since he'd had no luck in the bathroom the previous night) but was even starting to get slightly bloated. 

_I wonder what was in those canary things that didn't agree with me,_ he thought, frowning, as he lifted his blankets to inspect the small bulge of his normally flat stomach. _My money is on the Doxy eggs. Well, maybe a nice breakfast will set things down._

§ 

By the end of the schoolday, Fred’s stomach was positively sticking out, too swollen for him to ignore any longer (if only for the fact that it was becoming almost impossible to do up his trousers). 

“A word, if you don’t mind,” he said, grabbing George by the arm after another futile bathroom trip. “In here,” he added, ushering his brother into a broom closet. 

“Why did you skip Quidditch practice?” asked George. “Angelina was _pissed_ at you.” 

“I wasn’t feeling well,” said Fred, rubbing his nose in embarrassment. “I have a… I think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“The canary fancies?” asked George, anxiously. 

Fred nodded. 

“I think so,” he said, lifting the front of his robes. “Here, look. It’s been getting worse all day.” 

“Fuck,” said George, his eyes wide with shock. “What is _that_?” 

“I’m not sure,” said Fred, gloomily, who had sort of hoped from some reassurance by his brother. “I guess I’m having a reaction of some kind to the ingredients and the stuff I ate has gotten, er, more voluminous inside of me. I’m all stopped up, it seems.” 

George swallowed. 

“You need to go to the infirmary, this might be serious.” 

“No way! I’m not explaining what we were doing, are you crazy? She’ll tell on us, McGonagall will confiscate everything, she’ll _write to Mum_...” 

George considered the scenario for a moment. 

“All right,” he said, eventually. “I’m off to the library, then, to find a solution.” 

“The quicker the better,” said Fred, with a wince, rubbing the underside of his heavy gut. “I don’t know how much longer my shirts are going to fit me.” 

§ 

“So,” said George, pulling shut the curtains of Fred’s bed. “According to my research, it seems like there are two possible paths to explore. The first option is some sort of laxative, but frankly I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” said Fred, one hand pressed to the side of his naked stomach, where a pocket of gas was trapped painfully behind whatever it was that was blocking his lower intestines. “It seems like a wonderful idea to me.” 

“Well, to begin with, most of them require a lot of time for brewing,” retorted George. “Time that we pretty clearly don’t have. And also...” 

“And also...?” 

“Can I, er, touch it?” 

“What? Oh. Yes, of course. Go ahead. _Oh_ ,” moaned Fred, as his brother’s fingers gently pressed against the surface of his swollen belly. “Your hand is cold,” he lied, embarrassed, to explain his reaction. 

“Sorry,” said George, in a funny voice, as he retracted his hand. He was blushing slightly. “But yeah, it’s like I thought. It seems like there’s something pretty _solid_ inside of you - you can sort of see it just from looking at your belly - and the way a laxative works… I wouldn’t want to risk you getting hurt if it comes out too fast, or something.” 

“Can you show me again?” said Fred, unable to stop himself. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” said George, and he cleared his voice. “Here,” he said, resting a warm, slightly sweaty palm on his brother’s bloated stomach. “See, I think this is actually your colon, and if you press slightly” - he did - “you can feel that it is pretty packed. We need to soften things up before you, you know. Otherwise it might be pretty painful.” 

“What do you suggest we do, then?” said Fred, dimly aware of the flush that was creeping up his neck and the way his cock was filling out in his pants. 

“I think it’s called an enema,” explained George, without removing his warm hand from Fred’s stomach. He sounded slightly out of breath. “Basically we pump water up your, well, arse, and it takes care of things.” 

“I don’t see how water would fit,” said Fred, covering George’s hand with his own. “You said it yourself: I’m packed full,” he continued, pressing down against the tight surface of his gut. George let out an involuntary moan. Fred’s cock twitched. 

“Stil,” George said, looking down at their hands and the distended organ underneath, “I think it’s our best best.” 

Fred took a deep breath. 

“If you say so,” he said, suddenly slightly wistful at the idea of taking away the reason - uncomfortable as it was - for George to touch him like that. “Do you have everything we need?” 

George bit his lower lip. 

“We’ll do it Saturday morning,” he announced eventually, his cheek flushed, without quite meeting Fred’s eyes. “Lee has his detention, we’ll have the room to ourselves.” 

§ 

By Friday morning, despite having skipped dinner the evening before, Fred was starting to look positively pregnant. 

“Does it hurt?” said George, carefully palpating his brother’s round gut with both hands. 

“I haven’t farted in two days,” said Fred, propped up against his pillows, doing his best to try and repress an erection. “so there’s that. It’s starting to add up, I get cramps and stuff. But apart from that I think I’m fine, all in all.” 

“Are you still sure you don’t want to go to Madam Pomfrey?” 

“Oh, definitely,” Fred said, and he winked. “You’re a much better nurse anyway.” 

George, a bit flustered, grinned. 

“Speaking of which,” he said, tugging at his collar. “I’d better skip History of Magic and get back to the library to make double sure I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow. Well, unless you get better on your own. Hopefully you do. Well. See you at lunch, then.” 

§ 

Class was torture. Fred - his gut so swollen now that he had to sit with his legs slightly parted to accomodate it - spent the whole time dodging Lee’s inquiries about George’s absence, making sure that his robes covered the swell of his stomach, and trying his best to avoid Angelina’s murderous stare. 

He couldn’t, he found, quite put into words the reason why he was keeping the whole thing a secret from Lee - it was embarrassing, sure, but there weren’t many parts of everyday life that one managed to keep from a roommate of five years. Lee would have had a laugh about the whole thing, maybe, but he was sure never to rat them out to McGonagall. And yet Fred couldn’t bring himself to share his predicament - not with Lee, he decided, nor with anyone else, no matter how hard Angelina tried to bore a hole into his skull with her gaze. This particular secret - he decided, with a fluttering in his stomach that had little to do with his present condition - was for George and George alone. 

§ 

“Any news?” asked George at lunch. 

“Nothing,” said Fred, and he could have sworn that George looked pleased. “We’re waiting for a shipment of powdered Chinese Fireball nails,” he lied, for Lee’s sake. 

“Good for you,” said Lee, and he tucked back into his Yorkshire pudding. 

Fred gazed sadly at the trays of food on the table. He was very hungry, having eaten very little in the previous couple of days, but the rational part of him felt that it was best to avoid aggravating his problem. His stomach growled audibly. 

“You should eat something,” said George, in a low, measured tone. He was - Fred realized with a jolt - staring at the top of Fred’s stomach, concealed though it was under his heavy robes. 

“Should I?” said Fred, his hand involuntarily brushing against the swollen mass resting in his lap. 

“Definitely,” said George, a pink blush creeping up from underneath his collar. “At the very least, you should have some pumpkin juice. Here, give me your goblet.” 

§ 

The more juice Fred drank, the darker George’s eyes got, until he looked like he was having a hard time controlling himself enough not to jump the table to come check on the state of his brother’s stomach. 

“Are you two up for a game of Exploding Snaps in the common room?” asked Lee at the end of the meal. "Potions is cancelled, we have the afternoon free." 

“No, we can’t,” said George, a touch too quickly. “We have to, er, work on a thing. More juice, Fred?” 

Fred considered the offer. His stomach was so full that he felt like it was getting difficult to breathe, but the way George’s voice sounded - not to mention the way his hand shook slightly while he reached for the pitcher - made it hard to say no. 

“Go on, then,” he said, stifling a burp. 

§ 

Fred had thought that his belly was heavy before, but on their way back to Gryffindor tower his center of gravity was so off that he could barely walk unassisted. 

“I’m sorry,” said George, frowning. “I… maybe it wasn’t…” 

“I’m fine,” lied Fred, trying not to wince at a fresh wave of gas pains. “It was just liquid, it’ll come out soon enough.” 

“True,” said George, looking a bit relieved. “Say, how about we step into one of the secret passages for a bit? You’re looking quite, well, conspicuous at the moment. I’m not sure you should go into the Common room.” 

Fred looked down: it was true, he saw with a mix of alarm and excitement, his stomach was so swollen from the pumpkin juice that his robes couldn’t quite conceal the shape of it. 

“Good idea,” he agreed. “Let’s go.” 

§ 

“Let me have a look,” said George, without preamble, as soon as the tapestry slid back into place behind them (they’d tried the passage to Hogsmeade first, but Fred couldn’t fit through the opening behind the statue’s hump). 

Fred eased himself to the ground, his belly a great sloshing orb between his splayed legs. 

“Here you go,” he said, lifting his robes. His sweater barely covered the top half of his gut. 

“Holy fuck,” said George, swallowing audibly. “Can I touch it again?” 

“Go ahead,” said Fred weakly. The walk to get to their current location had left him out of breath and quite in pain, and he was starting to regret the whole juice thing - until he once more felt his brother’s warm hands on his skin, that is. 

“It’s unbelievable,” said George, in an awed tone, lifting Fred’s sweater until his whole bloated gut was exposed. The pressure of his palm, rubbing slow circles into the distended organ, was a balm for Fred. He felt his cock begin to stir inside his pants. 

“It makes it better when you rub it,” he said, aiming for a casual tone. George nodded, his face flushed, his eyes glued to the swell of skin under his hands. 

§ 

The next morning, Fred remained in his bed - curtains shut - until he heard Lee leave for his detention. 

“How’s the situation?” said George, joining him on the bed. “I heard you get up a few times last night, any luck?” 

Fred shook his head. 

“Peed like a hippogriff,” he said, resting his hand on top of his still pregnant-looking stomach. “But nothing else.” 

“I see,” said George, after a moment’s pause. “Well, let’s get you sorted out.” 

Fred cleared his voice. 

“Don’t you think you should, er, evaluate the situation again?” he asked, shamelessly, as if George hadn’t spent nearly an hour rubbing his gut the previous afternoon. “Just in case things have, I don’t know, shifted around.” 

“Sure,” said George, sounding genuinely thrilled. “Here, let’s see… you’re a bit more rounded out up here, but I think that’s just…” 

“Gas,” confirmed Fred, who could feel great bubbles of it moving aimlessly through his intestines. “How about the lower part?” 

“Still very packed,” said George, with a tinge of guilt in his tone. “I hope we’ve not done any, ah, damage to you by waiting until now. Whatever’s inside of you, it looks like there’s more of it this morning.” 

“I promise I’m fine,” said Fred, his erection straining his pyjama pants just inches below his brother’s fingers. “What’s the worst that can happen, a sore arse when it comes out?” 

George snorted. 

“Well, let’s see if we can avoid that too.” 

§ 

“Right,” said George, helping Fred to a towel he’d laid on the floor of the bathroom. “Take off your trousers.” 

Fred did. George looked at his engorged cock and made no mention of it. 

“Spread your legs,” he said instead, his voice trembling slightly. “I need to look at your arse.” 

Fred, propped up on his elbows, obeyed. 

“So,” said George. “I have this, er, bit of tubing that I transfigured to fit more comfortably up your arse, and then I’ll put my wand up against the other end and cast the _Aguamenti_ spell. Then we’ll wait a bit and hope the water softens the stuff inside you. We’ll probably have to do it a few times, the book said, but it should do the trick.” 

“No objections here,” said Fred, wincing through a sudden cramp. “I trust you.” 

“We’re almost there,” said George, his tone uncharacteristically sweet. “Can you spread your cheeks a little? Oh, there it is. Blimey, it’s tiny. Hope the nozzle fits.” 

“Can you, er, slick it up somehow?” 

“Good idea,” said George, and he whispered a lubrication charm. Fred gasped - the swell of his stomach prevented him from seeing what George was doing between his legs, and he had expected him to cast the spell on the tubing, not his arsehole. “Cold?” said George. 

“Yeah, a bit,” said Fred, and he bit his lower lip. He could feel his pulsing erection resting against the underside of his belly, fueled by the mere idea of George’s fingers in the proximity of his slicked hole. George looked transfixed. 

“I’m going… I’m going to spread the lube around a bit, if you don’t mind,” he said, softly. 

Fred nodded. The first touch of George’s finger on his hole sent a jolt up his spine, and he moaned. George blinked, took a deep breath and stuck his finger past the ring of muscle and into Fred’s awaiting arse. 

“There’s nothing here,” he remarked, slowly pumping his finger deeper and deeper. “I thought it was going to be full of, you know, stuff. It must be higher up.” 

“More,” moaned Fred, abandoning all pretense. “George. More, please.” 

Again George closed his eyes for a moment, and then Fred felt a second finger enter his arse, and the pumping motion resumed. George’s brow was drenched in sweat. _Fuck it,_ Fred thought, and he reached past his huge stomach to grab his erection. George’s hand stopped moving. 

“Fred,” he whispered urgently, leaning forward to look his brother in the eye. “Fred, can I stick it in? Please.” 

Fred almost came there and then. 

“Yes, please,” he gasped, “please.” 

George made a choked sound in his throat, and a second later Fred felt his fingers leave his arse and heard him fumble with the zipper of his trousers, and then - _oh_ \- the blunt tip of George’s erection was pressing at his opening, desperately trying to breach his resistance. 

Fred took a deep breath and tried to relax, George pushed more strongly, and at last the whole thing slipped in, stretching Fred’s hole more than he could have thought possible. George swore loudly. 

“Holy _fuck_ , Fred,” he said, holding himself above his brother on arms that were shaking wildly. “Holy fuck, I’m _inside_ you. I’m _actually_ inside you.” 

“Fuck me,” said Fred, delirious with lust. “Fuck me hard.” 

George started thrusting, clumsily at first, and then with a progressively more steady rhythm, his cock brushing Fred’s prostate again and again, until at last Fred tightened the grip on his own erection and came all over his huge ball of a gut. George followed immediately after, spurting several wads of semen inside Fred's arse before collapsing on him. 

“Merlin’s balls,” he said, rolling over to lie breathless by his brother’s side. “That was _wild_.” 

“I can’t believe we’ve done it,” agreed Fred, turning his head to smile at George. “You were amazing.” 

“Shut up,” said George, grinning, but Fred could tell that he was pleased. They lay on the floor for a few more minutes, their panting slowly turning back into normal breathing. 

“We should get back to, you know, the thing we came here for,” said George eventually. “Lee is bound to come back sooner or later.” 

Fred followed his brother’s lusty gaze down to his bloated stomach: he had been rubbing it without meaning to. 

“No way, my arse can’t take it right now,” he lied. “And I want to have enough time to do things properly. How about we wait until tomorrow? Lee has detention again.” 

George looked conflicted. 

“I’d love to fuck you again,” he admitted at last, one hand pressed possessively to the top of Fred’s belly. “Before this thing goes down. Sunday it is, then.” 

§ 

Fred stayed in bed all day, feigning an headache. His stomach was starting to cramp up regularly, enough that at one point, while George and Lee were away for lunch, he waddled into the bathroom and pushed in vain for a good ten minutes - gobs of George’s cum the only thing to emerge from his slightly sore arse. He looked at himself in the mirror: he looked like he had swallowed a pumpkin. He tried to picture how much bigger his belly could get once George got around to pumping water into it, and he ended up wanking off right there at the sink. 

§ 

That night, after Lee fell asleep, George fucked Fred twice more: once from behind, pounding wildly into him, and once with Fred on top, his big, heavy belly bouncing up and down with every thrust. 

“Whatever it is that they did to you,” he said eventually, collapsing on the mattress, completely spent, “those canary fancies are the best thing we’ve ever invented.” 

“Agreed,” said Fred, wincing as a very sharp pain in his gut interrupted his state of utter bliss. “ _Ouch_ ” 

“Do you want to try the enema now?” offered George. “I’ve got some Dittany salve for your arse, if you’re sore.” 

Fred held his breath through another cramp while he considered the matter. 

“Actually, I think I can feel things shifting down, if that makes sense,” he said, guiding George’s hand over the contours of his now slightly oblong stomach. “Can you feel it? The hard part is lower. It might be about to come out on his own.” 

“It will hurt,” said George, anxiously. “It feels really large.” 

Fred snorted. 

“It’s not like I haven't recently gotten used to large things in my arse, to be fair.” 

George laughed. 

“I still think we should try and soften things up,” he insisted. “Just to be careful.” 

“I just don’t think we’ll have time,” said Fred, his belly once more contracting painfully. “I, er, can feel something about to poke out.” 

“Oh. Well, let’s get you to the loo, then.” 

§ 

Fred was pushing with all his might. He could feel something pressing down at his opening, but no matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t dislodge it. His stomach felt like a boulder and hurt like a vice. 

“How are you doing?” whispered George, who was waiting behind the door. 

“Not well,” yelped Fred, unable to restrain himself. “Georgie, I really think it’s stuck” 

George burst into the stall, his eyes wide with worry. 

“Let me see,” he ordered. 

Fred blushed scarlet. 

“I can’t let you look at _that_ ,” he said, hotly. 

“It’s either me or a healer at St. Mungo’s,” said George, in a tone that admitted no reply. “C’mon, get up, lie down, spread your legs.” 

Fred sighed. 

“All right,” he said, clenching his teeth through another contraction. The mass inside him was sitting so low that standing up was almost impossible, but with George’s help he made it to the floor. George knelt between his legs and surveyed the situation. 

“It… it’s very weird,” he said eventually, in a puzzled voice. “There’s something peeking out, but it doesn’t look like I figured it would. _At all._ ” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, it’s… white,” said George, delicately prodding the rim of Fred’s hole. “And smooth. To tell you the truth, it looks an awful lot like…” 

“... an egg!” gasped Fred, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Of course it’s an egg. I was a canary, wasn’t I?” 

George blinked twice. 

“Yes, blimey, that’s exactly what it is. Fred, you’re about to lay an egg!” 

Fred grinned. 

“Just my luck, eh?” he said, his smile turning into a grimace as a new cramp hit. “Fuck, _fuck_ , it burns! How large do you think it is?” 

“Fairly large,” said George, apologetically. “Blimey, your arsehole is stretching really wide.” 

“Uunngh,” said Fred, holding his huge belly as he bore down again. “Fuck, fuck.” 

“It’s poking out a bit!” reported George, delicately palpating Fred’s bulging perineum. “Oh, shit, it’s slipped back in. Try again. Yes, like this, c’mon, you’re doing great - oh my, it’s _huge_ \- c’mon, Fred, just one more push, you’re almost done...” 

“Is it out? Is it out?” 

“You’re midway through,” said George, licking his lips. “It’s quite the sight, Fred, honestly. Just a huge fucking _egg_ sticking out of your arse.” 

“Wait, are you having _fun_?” asked Fred, smirking through the pain. George had the decency to blush. 

“A bit,” he admitted, chewing his nail. “You’re just so… full, and round, and stretched.” 

“I am,” agreed Fred, spreading his legs wider. “And it’s all because of you, isn’t it? It was you who came up with the canary fancies. Look at what you’ve done to me.” 

George swallowed audibly, his hand pressed to the front of his trousers, his eyes glued to Fred's bulging arsehole. 

“It’s almost out,” he said, breathlessly. “One more push, Fred, you’re almost there.” 

Fred clenched his teeth, threw his head back and gave one last almighty push: his arse stretched wider than he could ever have imagined, and the egg finally slipped out, followed by a small amount of a clear fluid. 

“Look at what’s come out of you”, said George, in complete awe, holding up the slimy object. “Just _look_ at the size of this thing, Fred.” 

Fred smiled, exhausted. 

“Kudos to me,” he said, savouring the overwhelming relief of his arsehole shrinking back to its usual size. “Well, this has been very fun, mostly, but now I’m definitely ready for a good shower and a nice long sleep… _ouch_.” 

“What’s up?” said George, who was holding the egg up to one of the torches that provided light to the bathroom. “This thing is empty, by the way, we’re not going to have to raise a giant canary chick or anything.” 

“I’m still having cramps,” said Fred, rubbing his still gigantic belly and frowning. “I suppose it’s the, you know, stuff that was behind the egg. It’s going to come out, obviously, now that there’s nothing blocking it. I doubt it’ll be pretty. Just look at how bloated I still am.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” said George, setting the egg down. “Lots of stuff in there, judging from the size of you. Well, I’m helping you back on the toilet, then. Call me when you’re done if you want me to help you shower.” 

“Thank you,” said Fred, accepting George’s hand and getting back to his feet. “My legs are super wea- oh, _FUCK_ ,” he cried, as he felt another large mass drop inside his rectum. 

“It’s going to be a long night,” commented George, a lustful glint in his eyes, and he helped his labouring brother back down. “Let’s see where it takes us.”


End file.
